


soft.

by killmongersgurl



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Redeemed Killmonger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 18:02:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14266578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killmongersgurl/pseuds/killmongersgurl
Summary: erik killmonger is the supreme overlord fuckboy of all fuckboys and MBJ really got me all the way fucked up, sympathizing and idealizing and romanticizing that fine ass psychopathic piece of shit. i think it's pretty worth noting that this series is written specifically for my black #ThickieThickieThickGurlz.  enjoy!





	1. Chapter 1

_prequel._

* * *

 “Damn, you cleanin’ that chicken bone.”

The sound of his voice made you sit up in your seat, your teeth penetrating the piece of chicken between your fingers mid-bite. You looked to him from the corner of your eye, swallowing the short gasp that threatened to slip past your throat at the sight of him. You hadn’t even heard the front door open and close behind him, much less the sound of his footsteps making their way to you in the kitchen. As big and bulky as he was, it was always easy to forget that he could be just as stealthy if he wanted to. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of having startled you, even if it was just a bit. So you simply shuffled in your stool and braced your elbows onto the counter, making yourself comfortable as you completed your bite, chewed, swallowed, and resumed your meal.

“When did you get home?”

Erik’s brows arched ever so slightly. It was such a minuscule expression that hijacked his face for a split second, right before he was back to his normal stone-faced self. You thought nothing of it once he crossed his arms and leaned against the counter to watch you eat, an amused smirk gracing his lips. “About ten minutes ago. Already cleaned up and everything, and you ain’t even hear a thing. Is the chicken that good?”

Your face grew warm with embarrassment, but you allowed yourself to laugh as you placed the chicken bone aside to pick a wing up. You rolled your eyes and took another bite. “I’m hungry. Don’t interrupt me.”

“Trust me, I’m not.” His eyes zipped up and down your body, fast as lightning, before he met your eyes. “You know I like a woman who can eat. And you _cleanin_ ’ them chicken bones.”

“No interruptions, Erik.”

His smirk grew as he pushed himself off of the counter to make his way over to you. He stood behind you and sneaked his hands underneath your hoodie, caressing your stomach with tender strokes and grips that made you chew a bit slower as he pulled you against his sturdy chest. He took your earlobe between his teeth, giving it a gentle tug before placing a kiss onto your cheek. “You gon’ let me eat you out while you clean them bones?”

“ _Erik_.”

He ignored your warning tone, choosing instead to slide a hand up to grab your breast while the other moved to squeeze your thigh. He played with and kneaded your flesh as if he was creating a fine piece of pottery, a soft moan leaving his lips. Your eyes fluttered at the sound; he seemed to be enjoying this just as much as you were, if not more.

“You won’t even have to put the food down,” he spoke into your ear. “Just chew slow so you don’t choke.”

“ _Erik_!” you laughed aloud as he buried his face into your neck with a low chuckle. The sound was warm and inviting, two admittedly strange words used to describe anything that came from this man. Yet it made your stomach flip and your eyes flutter with elation, because this man was _your_ man. You wouldn’t change that or give it up for anything. “You really gonna be that weird ass nigga that gets off on watching women eat?”

“This wouldn’t be a problem if you didn’t look so good cleanin’ the fuck out of that chicken bone.”

“Cornball ass nigga.”

You reached a hand out to push his head away and he simply dodged it to sneak another kiss onto your cheek. As his hands slid back to their rightful place on your stomach, his deft fingers resumed their gentle massage. This made you relax into his hold with a smile as you returned to your meal.

“You still payin’ for that apartment?” he asked.

“Why?” you countered. “You want to pay my rent?”

Another low chuckle flowed into your ear. He shrugged, hugging you closer as he began to rock you side to side. “Nah, it’s just… you always over here. Every night is a sleepover and you got all your clothes and shit here. Makes no sense to keep payin’ for that apartment.”

You looked to your plate of food with hesitation. You swallowed. _Hard_. “You… You want me to move in with you?”

It was his turn to hesitate. He stopped his rocking to slide his hands out of your hoodie as he stepped away from you to lean against the counter and meet your eyes. He seemed to be debating something within himself as he watched you, before finally taking a step closer to you and sliding his fingertips underneath your hoodie, once again, to graze your hip. “I’m just— I’m just sayin’—“

_A stutter?_

“—you’d save some money. Makes no sense to keep payin’ for that apartment when you always over here. I’m trying to help you be more economically fiscal, Little Miss I-Can’t-Sleep-Unless-You-Holdin’-Me.”

“I never said that, nigga.”

“You didn’t have to, little nigga.”

As you pursed your lips to fight your growing smile, he pulled his hand away from you and looked away to rub the back of his neck. Suspicion bubbled in the pit of your stomach as you watched him push himself off of the counter to shift from foot to foot. The entire vibe of this conversation was so _off_ , simply because you’d never seen Erik so nervous and hesitant. It didn’t even feel right to use those two words to describe him, because this man was the very picture and human personification of confidence. His confidence was one of the many reasons he had just been appointed as his cousin’s, the king’s, most trusted advisor. Yet there he was, standing before you and avoiding your eyes as if he was a naughty child who’d gotten caught stealing from the cookie jar.

Because he wanted you to move in with him?

A smile tugged at your lips. “Erik—“

“Listen, I’ma head to bed. I’ll see you there.”

At that, he placed a kiss onto your forehead and made his way out of the kitchen as quietly as he came in. You caught the clenching of his fists before he turned the corner, a sight that made your smile grow as you looked to your plate of food. All of a sudden, you weren’t so hungry anymore. Not for food, anyway.

You wiped your hands and stood to put the food and trash away, washed your hands before cleaning yourself up in the bathroom, and made your way to his bedroom. You found him laying in the bed, in silence and in darkness, with an arm over his eyes. Both silence and darkness were close friends of his, so it was never strange to find him indulging in either one separately or at the same time, but it worried you tonight. You weren’t sure what was running through that head of his.

With tentative steps, you walked to the bed to lay beside him. His fingers twitched at his side, as if he was itching to touch you. He was a prideful man, one who would never risk speaking first if he felt slighted, even if he had been slighted by his own hand. You took a moment to admire his profile before opening your mouth to address him.

“You know that bright pink couch sitting in my living room?”

He hesitated for a moment before clenching his jaw. “Yeah.”

“It was my mother’s.”

“Your mother had horrible taste.”

Pause.

“May she rest in peace.”

A snort slipped past your throat and he seemed to be fighting a smile. His humor was still there; a good sign. “When I moved out here after she died, I took it with me. It was all I had left of her. It was hard as fuck to get it through the front door of my apartment, and the movers even tried to get me to sell it. But I couldn’t leave it behind, you know? It’s ugly as fuck and it didn’t match anything in there, but it’s my mother’s.”

The arm resting over his eyes shifted a bit, allowing him to look over and meet your eyes. “It shouldn’t be too hard to fit that ugly thing through the front door of this place.”

“I hope not. I can’t leave it behind.”

“You won’t have to.” He reached over to tangle your fingers with his. “You called this place home earlier. You’ve done it before, too. I noticed.”

“This _is_ home.”

Erik’s eyes bore deep into your own as he watched you, in a way that made you press your thighs together as your stomach flipped. He bit into his lip and shuffled closer to you. “I want you with me. And I mean that. I’m sick of doin’ that back and forth shit between our apartments. I don’t give a fuck if we both settle down here, if we both settle down at your place, or if we find a new place altogether. I just want us to be together under one roof, if that’s what you want, too.”

All of a sudden, the room was blazing hot as he continued to watch you. Your breath caught in your throat, forcing you to swallow that thick lump down. “You would move into my apartment? You always talk shit about it.”

“We would have to spend some money to redecorate, but—“

“ _Erik_.”

“ _Y/N_ ,” he mocked with a playful curl of his lip that made you smile. He tugged your fingers. “Yeah, I’d move into that ugly ass apartment. I’d go anywhere with you. I just want you sleepin’ next to me every night and wakin’ up next to me every mornin’.”

Your heart stuttered. “That’s kinda soft, don’t you think?”

“You the one who turned me into a soft nigga, so deal with it.”

You rolled your eyes, pointedly ignoring his low chuckle and the way it made your breath hitch in your throat with excitement. “It would be easier for me to just stay here. Like you said, all my stuff is here.”

“All we gotta do is haul that ugly ass couch over here and through the door.”

“All we gotta do is haul that ugly ass couch over here and through the door,” you agreed with a nod.

A smile ghosted his lips as he leaned over to kiss you, deep and agonizingly slow, in a way that forced you to part your thighs for relief. He pulled away from your lips and moved to stand on his knees between your legs, grabbing you by the knees and hooking them at his hips. He tugged his shirt over his head, taking your hands and lacing his fingers with yours over his scarred chest.

“I don’t want you callin’ me, Erik, anymore.”

The vulnerability laced within his voice called for your attention as he hesitated, yet again. In just one hour, you had grown so tired of seeing him do that around you after all this time. You took his hands and pulled him down, forcing him to press his body against yours as you took his face into your hands. “What do you want me to call you?”

“N’Jadaka.”

Nervousness coursed through your veins. A request such as this paired with the fact that the two of you would soon be moving in together, meant that this was real. The two of you were real. Yet when his eyes darkened, all nervousness and hesitancy faded away, making room for acceptance that you were all too ready to share with him.

You nodded and grazed his lips with the padding of your thumbs. “N’Jadaka.”

 _N’Jadaka_ kissed you again, swallowing your soft groans as he prepared to ensure that you wouldn’t soon forget his name for the night.


	2. Chapter 2

_one_.

* * *

Observing the way that Erik treated others and comparing it to the way he behaved with you was always a pretty fun game to play. His interactions with others ranged from, between and were not limited to: a terrible asshole, an egotistical asshole and a literal piece of shit that descended directly from satan’s asshole. Yet when it came to you, he never failed to be soft and tender. But this was still Erik _Killmonger_ Stevens.

Erik was Erik, and you were you—and the two of you shouldn’t have worked so well together.

He was a thot of the highest degree, the slut of all sluts and the biggest ho to come out of Harlem, for starters. While Erik had been dicking his way around MIT with an imaginary foam finger that had the title Pullout King™️ plastered onto it beside a picture of his face, you had your head in the books and gave no way for any distraction that came in the form of a man or woman.

Erik was a hard man, in every aspect; rough and tough and mean. But you were a softie who always cried after watching Studio Ghibli films, no matter how many times you’ve already watched them. You liked driving around with the window down, blasting music and screaming the lyrics with all your heart. He liked to vibe to trap music in a dimly lit room while smoking weed before leading a discussion about the oppression of his people, and the different ways to overcome it.

He was literally made up of muscles and never missed a workout. You were a bit of a chunky girl and jiggled when you walked; your food never missed your mouth. He knew the names and faces of everyone who’d wronged him, and could take a grudge to the grave. While you were fine with letting things go as long as people let you sleep, he was perfectly fine with missing more than just one night of sleep so long as revenge was properly carried out.

The only thing you two truly had in common was your mutual concern for the betterment of your people, which gradually turned into conversations about your mutual love for anime. This quickly turned into _several_ arguments regarding your choices in anime, which somehow opened the door for your first date. And you guys were… _okay_.

But you shouldn’t have been.

This wasn’t you being cynical or pessimistic, this was you being honest. Your memory always got a little fuzzy and blurry whenever you tried to understand exactly how you ended up together in the first place. The ease and flow within your relationship confused you and led you on the search for some insight, because you were also a little concerned. Did it say something about you, for a man like this to be so drawn and attached to you?

It wasn’t that you were worried about what people thought of you for being with him. It was the mere fact that you two shouldn’t have fit so well together and for some reason, you fit perfectly. It was strange, but nice. Really nice.

“Without further ado, I humbly present to you the speaker of the night: King T’Challa!”

As the king made his way to the podium that stood on the stage, the banquet hall filled with deep barks and chants accompanied by drums. You never thought that there would come a day when black people of all backgrounds would be allowed to be unabashedly black in the company of white people. But there you were, sitting in the audience of a United Nations dinner and seeing it happen with your own eyes. It was beautiful.

Erik laughed beside you, although it sounded more like an evil snicker. “Damn, these white people scared as hell with all these niggas _niggering_ it up in here.” He squeezed your hip and pulled you close. “YEEEERRRRR, CUUUUUUUUUZ!”

The sight of all those red faces made you cackle just as evilly as your boyfriend did. You’d never seen so many red faces. They looked confused, as if they weren’t sure if they should keep clapping, join the barking or just stay quiet. Luckily for them, T’Challa raised a hand, quietly asking the audience to quiet down so he could get started on his speech.

Erik released his hold on your hip to hook his arm at your neck, simply resting it there and hugging you close as he leaned in to whisper in your ear. The feeling of his warm breath ghosting your skin paired with the sensation of the tips of his dreads grazing your cheek and forehead made you shiver. You didn’t mind, though. He felt and smelled ridiculously good, like a distinct mix of Egyptian musk and Shea butter.

“I might have to take you back home.”

This made you sit up, your eyes darting around the room and scanning for any potential threats. Your boyfriend had been appointed as the king’s trusted advisor, meaning that he would fight beside his cousin in the event of any danger. You could fend for yourself and you both knew it, so if he felt the need to rush you home, he must have seen or sensed something bad.

He pulled you in closer. “You wearin’ that dress a little too fuckin’ well.”

 _This nigga_.

You rolled your eyes and relaxed into his hold, taking in his scent and warmth. “Erik, don’t play like that. You really had me thinking that something was wrong.”

“Something _is_ wrong!” he insisted, before pointing at a gentleman standing at the wall opposite of your table. “See that nigga?”

“Babe, stop pointing. He’ll get the wrong idea.”

“ _Tuh_! I just yer’d out my most niggarific _yeeerrrrr_ while a whole bunch of other niggas barked, chanted and played drums as my black ass cousin, the black ass king of his own black ass country strolled on stage to give a speech about how his black ass country is better than everyone else’s at a white ass United Nations dinner. You think I give a fuck if _Chad Brettson Smith_  gets the wrong idea?”

You bit your lip to keep yourself from laughing, your shoulders shaking underneath his arm. You shook your head with a roll of your eyes. “Yes, I see _Chad_. What’s wrong with him?”

“Nigga had his eyes on you as soon as we walked in.”

“I walked in with the royal family. We both did. _You_ are a part of the royal family, Erik.”

“He kept starin’ at your ass.”

“Everybody stares at my ass when I walk into a room. It’s huge.”

“I keep tellin’ you to workout with me.”

”You only say that so that I can lose my ass, so people can stop looking at me.”

Erik shrugged and moved to burrow his face into your neck for a moment. Surprisingly enough, he was really into PDA and couldn’t give two fucks if anyone was watching. He would lock eyes with any spectators and kiss you, daring them to say something and give him an excuse to go off on them for interrupting his booloving session. So you simply tilted your head and craned your neck a bit, giving him permission to place a quick peck there.

“You wouldn’t lose your ass.” He took in a deep whiff of your scent before hesitating. “…Would you?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t I start working out with you tomorrow and we’ll see in a few months?”

He shook his head and the tips of his dreads tickled your skin again as his lips returned to your ear. “Nah. Too risky.”

You snorted. Of course.

“You better not go on no fuckin’ diet, either.”

“Why? ‘Cuz you like my ass?”

“‘Cuz I like your everything.”

The corners of your mouth curved up and into a smile at his words. He always made it a point to tell you and show you just how much he appreciated your body, along with the extra meat and rolls and pudge that came with it. “I can’t stand you.”

Erik chuckled, the sound soothing you as a pleasant silence weaved it’s way into the conversation. Silence was never awkward for the two of you, even though he seemed to never be able to keep his mouth shut. While you took the pause in your conversation to catch a little bit of T’Challa’s speech, you knew that your boyfriend hadn’t taken his eyes off you once. You could feel him watching, just like you always could; you never minded.

“And what did I tell you about callin’ me Erik? You know I don’t want you callin’ me that.” His voice was a bit softer in your ear, almost like he didn’t want to risk anyone else hearing. He reached for your fingertips with his free fingers, reminding you that he’s just as much of a softie as you are. He was just better at hiding it. “What’s my name, babe?”

“N’Jadaka,” you whispered before turning your head just a bit to meet his eyes. All of a sudden, it was hard to breathe. It was always a bit difficult to breathe when he looked at you like that, something that took some getting used to when you first started dating. Hell, after all this time, you were _still_ getting used to it. Your eyes fluttered underneath his hard and imposing gaze. “Your name is N’Jadaka.”

He nodded, and you watched each other. While T’Challa’s voice had faded into a murmuring mess in your ears, the air grew thick and staticky. It was filled with electricity and thoughts of wet skin slapping even wetter skin, yet the air somehow managed to be tender at the very same time. Tender and almost sweet, like fucking until you tapped out and waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of the Naruto theme song playing in the background, sore and cuddled up with him while he played with your ass and relished in the way it jiggled underneath his hand.

 _N’Jadaka_ released your fingers to touch your chin, careful not to mess with your makeup. He leaned in and your eyes closed as you jutted your chin forward so that he could kiss your lips, but he placed a kiss onto your cheek instead. This kiss was soft and lingering and a little wet, further proof that he really didn’t care that you were sitting in an audience of distinguished people at a United Nations dinner as his cousin, the king spoke. But he never cared who was around. He never gave a fuck, quite frankly, because he was all about you and him—about the _us_ and the _we_.

Your stomach turned with a strange feeling when he pulled away to meet your eyes as they fluttered open. Underneath all that anger and passion and grit, he was just a man. He was pretty fucked up and still learning, but was still just a man. Knowing that for yourself was nice.

You took his face into a hand to gently massage his beard. “You cornball ass nigga.”

“This cornball ass nigga’s about to wreck ya walls in the car.”

An excited grin stretched across your face as you laughed. You were sure people turned to look at you, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care because you were even more sure that you loved this man. He simply smirked and you could already feel your pussy acting up.

“The king might need his trusted advisor beside him for questions.”

“That nigga can handle himself tonight.”

He placed a kiss to your temple and you stood with him, wrapping your arms around his middle and hugging him close as you both stepped out of the banquet hall.

 


	3. Chapter 3

_two_.

* * *

 “ _Fuck_.”

The sudden sound of N’Jadaka’s voice startled you from your deep slumber, forcing your eyes open as you groggily took your surroundings in. You were naked as the day you were born as you laid with him in the back of his car, his thumb gently caressing your hip with a sweetness you both knew he shouldn’t have possessed. He held you flush against his sturdy body, as if he was afraid you would disappear and leave him, and you relished in just how well you could feel every part of him. From the ridged marks on his chest pressing against your breasts, to the meat of his flaccid penis resting beside your aching thigh, to the strong _thumpthumpthump_ of his heart beating right underneath your ear—and you loved it.

You loved _him_. 

You never grew tired of waking up like this with him, enveloped in _his_ embrace like this and immersed in _him_ like this, and you knew that you never would. It all served to remind you exactly why the two of you had rushed out of the banquet hall and into his car, and despite how sore your body was, it also made you want him again. 

You raised your chin to meet his eyes, only to find him with his earphones in and completely entranced by something on his phone. You reached up to take a bud from his ear and put it into your own as he lowered the phone for you. To your surprise, he wasn’t watching Naruto or even Dragon Ball Z. He was watching Bleach.

A snort almost escaped your throat, but you settled for a wide smile you were sure he felt grow against his skin. “I thought you gave up on this show.”

Your voice sounded disgusting and groggy, but if he noticed he didn’t let it show. He simply scoffed. “That was before my nosy ass decided to do some diggin’ on the ending of the show and I found out that, that brolic nigga Zaraki’s bankai was Yachiru the whole time. Now I gotta catch up and see it all unfold for myself.”

The temptation to call him out for being such a fucking nerd was all too strong, but you managed to swallow it down. Any mention of his excessive nerdiness would only result in a two-part lecture that would last at least three days and despite how much fun debating with him could be, you weren’t in the mood for that tonight. Right now you were just fine and comfortable with having him hold you close as you watched some corny anime in the back of his car, when you both should have been supporting his cousin at an important dinner.

You allowed your snort to slip past your throat before placing a kiss onto his chest. The hand at your hip moved to your waist before giving it an affectionate squeeze, and your smile stretched.

“You ever thought about kids?”

A record scratch sounded off in your head.

All of a sudden, you were really worried about how T’Challa was doing with answering those questions. Despite being trained from childhood on how to properly conduct himself during interviews, he tended to get a little flustered and tongue-tied, which was exactly why N’Jadaka had been appointed as the king’s official and most trusted advisor. Unlike his cousin, he rarely ever got nervous or tongue-tied. Not even now, when he was leading you into a discussion regarding the possibility of children.

“Like, havin’ them,” N’Jadaka continued. “With me?”

Of _your_ children—because _only this nigga_ could ask something like that in the way that he just did. 

The air in the car shifted into something a bit heavier as your breath hitched in your throat. This wasn’t the usual type of heaviness that you normally felt with him, not the kind that made you think of staying up all night and sleeping in all day with him. This heaviness was what you used to feel with him, the disconcerting wracking of your nerves before he trusted you enough to let you inside of his head and heart. All that kept you sane at the moment was the sound of the show flowing from the earphone and the steady rise and fall of his chest against your cheek, because it wasn’t that you’d never entertained the thought of children and of having children with him. You had. You simply never thought to bring it up to him because this was _N’Jadaka_ , and you knew this man.

At least, you thought you did.

“You want to have kids?” you blurted stupidly. Just the sound of your voice asking him that question made you cringe and clamp your eyes shut, but you couldn’t stop the words from flowing out. “You want to have kids with _me_? And you want me to give birth to your kids? _Our_ kids?”

“Duh, with you.” The tone of his voice made you think that he was rolling his eyes, which really wouldn’t have been surprising. “I mean, if you wanna have them with me. You the only woman I’ve ever thought about havin’ those little niggas with.”

Your stomach did a somersault. “You can’t just call kids ‘little niggas,’ babe.”

“I can if they’re _my_ little niggas, darlin’.”

A soft chuckle slipped through your nostrils as his words served to calm your agitated nerves. He placed a kiss into your hair, which you imagined to be an absolute mess after the way he’d handled you. You had taken the time to slick it down and into a low bun this morning, making sure that your baby hairs were laid to absolute perfection. Only for the nigga you love to fuck all of your hard work away. 

You opened your eyes and caught a glimpse of your dress hanging from the corner of the passenger’s seat as you gently passed your fingertips over the scars decorating his chest. The two of you were both pretty affectionate with one another, something that surprised you when your relationship first started. While you were a fan of simply placing chaste kisses anywhere you could reach and lacing your fingers with his, he had a penchant for slipping his hand underneath your shirt to stroke your back or your stomach with tender touches. He was touch-starved and you had no problem with helping him out with that.

You moved to place a kiss onto his sternum before focusing your eyes onto his phone. “How long have you been thinking about this?”

“I guess after seein’ M’Baku’s newest one.” He clicked his tongue with a shake of his head. “That nigga done constructed himself his own brigade. I already know they all ‘bout to be big as hell and wreakin’ all types of havoc.”

“Mh-hm,” you agreed. “I don’t know how his wife is still walking after all them kids. Poor thing. We should ask Nakia to step in and intervene to save her or something.”

N’Jadaka laughed. The sound was rich and warm as a concentrated sort of heat pooled deep within the pit of your stomach. He cleared his throat. “The new one is probably the cutest one they got. Real fat and brown, you know? Always laughin’. Betchu we could make a cuter, fatter, and happier one.”

“Battle of the babies?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Do you think we’re ready?”

“Is anyone ever ready?” he countered before shrugging. “We’d be doin’ this together, anyway. We’re a team. The little nigga raisin’ team.”

Another wide smile stretched across your face. You hugged him as tightly as you could and he squeezed your waist again, before moving to grip your ass. “It’s just gonna get fatter if you put a baby inside of me.”

“You and that little nigga ‘bout to get me in some trouble, huh?” He shifted underneath you with a low groan. “I don’t mind fightin’ niggas. You know that.”

The two of you left the conversation at that. You were both on the same page, which was filled with plenty of open-ended questions, all of which could be asked and answered another time. This was good enough for now.

“How long was I out?” you asked.

“Oh, you mean after I tore your ass all the way up and made you tap out?”

“ _N’Jadaka_!”

A low growl rumbled deep within his throat as his grip on your ass grew firm, in a way that made your eyes flutter as a faint sigh slipped past your full lips. He placed another kiss into your hair, a kiss that was lingering and full of dark promises that you were sure you’d be begging him to fulfill in just a few moments, before he set the phone aside to grab for your chin and kiss your lips. This kiss was all slow lips and even slower tongues, all moaning and groaning into each other’s mouths, all heavy breathing and groping, and entirely _please make me feel good_. It was completely him and completely you—exclusively, the _we_ and the _us_.

“I love hearin’ you say my name, baby,” he declared into your mouth, before taking your bottom lip between his teeth and drawing a keen moan from the very depth of your soul as he gently tugged. “I love the way you say it. Again.”

“ _N’Jadaka_ ,” you breathed desperately into his mouth as you pressed yourself against him. “Baby, please.”

He slapped your ass and gripped it hard, digging his fingers into the ample meat with an air of possession you were all too proud to give into. He kissed your lips two more times before moving to kiss your forehead. “You weren’t out for long.”

You blinked up at him as he picked his phone back up to resume watching the show, as if nothing had even happened. You didn’t even remember asking him anything, and quite frankly, you didn’t want any answers. All you wanted was to have his dick inside of you and to have him rearrange your guts. You wanted him to ruin your guts— _again_ —but there was a smirk on his face. It was small and barely even distinguishable, something that you wouldn’t have noticed had you not known him so well.

You glared at him. “Nigga, I fucking swear—”

He laughed and hugged you close, which was pretty impressive considering just how close you already were. “I’ma take care of you. You know that. Just let me finish this episode.”

With a bit of a brattish scoff and a roll of your eyes, you rested your cheek against his chest as your eyes returned to the dress hanging from the passenger’s seat. The sharp sound of expensive fabric tearing rang in your ears, fabric that was much more expensive than you could ever hope to afford on your own, followed by the desperate cry of his name made you cringe. “That dress was a gift.”

“From?”

“Okoye.”

“Shit.” He released a sharp sigh. “Okay. Okay. Yeah, _fuck_. She gon’ beat my ass. You know that woman don’t like me! She ‘bout to beat my fuckin’ ass. You coulda told me this before I—“

“Before you tore my ass all the way up and made me tap out?”

“ _Fuck_.”

As you cackled, he grew frazzled and nervous. Visibly.

“I gotta start this episode over again. I can’t even focus anymore. Listen,” he began as his shaking thumb attempted to scroll over the search bar at the bottom of his screen. He ignored your growing laughter. “Listen to me: don’t tell her shit. Don’t tell _anybody_ shit. Just find out where she got that dress and I’ma get you a new one.”

This man, the same one who had taken on the moniker ‘Killmonger’ and singlehandedly led a coup against his own cousin on his own turf, had his nerves wracked with the mere mentioning of one woman’s name. It was a little terrifying to see such power at work when Okoye wasn’t even there. Unfortunately for your boyfriend, it was also kind of cute. 

“I’ll keep you safe from her,” you assured him. “She likes me.”

A little smile ghosted over his smirk, and the sight made you smile as well. You could distinctly remember a time when he had been too pressed to do anything other than smirk and scowl; it was nice to see and know that he wasn’t so guarded with you anymore.

You moved to place a kiss onto his chin, his beard scratching a bit at your skin. “Let me know when I start to get heavy. I’ll move.”

“Nah, you good.” His thumb finally stopped shaking, allowing him to scroll over that little bar. The hand at your ass moved to return to its place at your waist, gripping it as he released a soft groan. “You feel good.”

You rested your cheek against his chest at that, relaxing into his hold as the Bleach theme song flowed into your ear.

 

 


End file.
